Requital 8 of ?

Here's other half of the last chapter, as promised. Or I guess you could call it the next chapter. Though I don't know about Ch.9 coming out this fast. Yow. Thank you thank you so much for your feedback. I really do appreciate you taking a minute to tell me what's up.

Notes 'n stuff in Ch. 1

Grissom's mind had been a constant cavalcade of details, ideas and theories over the drive as he tried desperately to piece together the situation. It was a foreign feeling, this… relying on his gut more than science. Science was his touchstone, and the past few days he felt like a forgotten dinghy boat in the middle of the stormy Atlantic. For some reason he wasn't sure science would help find Nick.

He focused back in the present and noticed a sign approaching in the distance: Welcome to Mulberry.

Feeling slightly queasy all of the sudden, he figured a more fitting sign might read "Welcome to Hell." It really wasn't much of a stretch considering the events that transpired the last time he was in this town… and where that had eventually led them.

"Alright, Griss," Warrick started, "where am I goin'?"

He looked down at the piece of paper he had unconsciously crumpled in his sweaty hand throughout the drive and tried to flatten it out against his leg. The supervisor squinted at the hastily written directions.

"Go through the next two lights and then turn left on Chambers."

His colleague said nothing, eyes fixed on the road ahead; he noticed Warrick's white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel had made another appearance.

Brass and Catherine had caught up to them at some point during the trip. Grissom briefly turned around to make sure they were still following. "Okay. Now hang a right here."

The Denali barely slowed down as it turned the corner and neared a rickety old orange sign that boasted the 'most storage space in town.'

"Here it is – to the right."

Grissom looked back down at the paper as his colleague drove past row after row of garages. "The owner said the Masons have rented #5584 for years. It's all the way in the back."

Finally reaching their destination, Warrick pulled into the gravel driveway and both CSIs exited the truck silently. They waited for Brass and Catherine to join them before approaching the garage together.

"Warrick, go ahead and check the perimeter."

He nodded at his boss and moved around the side, as Brass unholstered his weapon and Grissom entered the owner's universal code into the door key.

The door creaked and slowly ascended – Brass sighed. "I found our blue Caddie."

The detective slowly walked forward with his gun drawn. "Las Vegas Police!" He walked to the back and checked behind the car and around the piles of furniture. "Nobody's home."

No one seemed surprised. Grissom snapped on a glove and entered the garage. He figured she'd probably ditch that car anyway. "So she stole one, or, more likely, she had another stored in here."

He opened both driver-side doors and Catherine did the same on the opposite side. Nothing was left on the back seat, but he noticed what looked like a half-dried puddle of vomit on the floor.

"Hope the kid puked on her."

Grissom turned his head slightly and saw Brass looking over his shoulder. He found himself oddly comforted by the captain's characteristic wryness.

He and Catherine moved simultaneously from the back seat to the front, and immediately both noticed a piece of paper lying among granola bar crumbs on the floor.

God. Another note.

He almost willed it to vanish into thin air, but also knew it might give an idea of where Nick is. Catherine gave him a supportive look, waiting for her friend to make the next move. His eyes returned a measure of thanks in the same unspoken language they'd learned to use long ago.

Grissom reached for the note and unfolded it slowly, immediately noticing it was written in meticulous cursive rather than being word-processed.

Hey! Isn't this fun? It's like follow the bread crumb trail. You thought I ran home, huh? Well, good guess, but I'm afraid you're not quite correct yet. But I suppose you're doing alright if you made it here… then again you can't be too proud of yourself -- you're still missing something, right? He would say 'hi,' but he hasn't exactly been talkative lately...

You know, come to think of it… you really didn't even have to come to Mulberry. I just figured it would bring back great memories for you, yeah? I know it does for me.

So where to next, Evidence Man? Surely it's time for you to go screw up someone's life just so you can solve a case, right? Go and study your bugs and your muddy boot prints… I'm sure you'll find Nick under one of them, but I can't promise he'll still be alive.

P.S. Just know that when you do finally figure it out, I wouldn't bring the cavalry with you. The last thing we want is some moron in riot gear waving a machete during our tête-à-tête… you know, with the innocent bystanders and such. I wouldn't want your guilty conscience to take another hit. You might develop a complex or something.

He handed the note wordlessly to Catherine.

She read it quickly and looked back at Grissom. "You think she's lying? I mean where else would she go besides Mulberry?"

"Everything she's done so far has been with very specific reason. And it has all related to Millander or her life after his death. And this is where they lived… why not stay here somewhere?"

Brass finished reading the letter for himself, then spoke up. "Maybe they had other property in the area?"

Catherine considered the idea for a moment. "I'll go over to their old house – I know they owned another piece of property right next to it. Maybe she held onto it."

Grissom felt uneasy, but agreed anyway. "Jim, you go along with her. Warrick and I can stay here and see if there are any more surprises. I also want to talk with the storage owner to see if he noticed any other vehicles pulling out of here this morning."

He watched his two friends leave and hoped they'd find something constructive.

So much for that.

A couple hours later found Catherine returning empty-handed and Warrick buried in piles of papers and yard sale junk. Brass was across the way talking to another garage renter.

"Griss," Warrick called from his position behind the back of the Cadillac. "I finished going through her trunk. All these binders of notebooks are meaningless."

The supervisor didn't answer. He was pouring over the note again trying to find a hidden meaning… a clue… something. Anything. He felt a sudden tap on his shoulder and looked up to find Catherine standing over him.

"I think we're hitting a dead end here, and Sara said that Craig doesn't know anything. I'm going to call Archie and see if he got anything else off the computer."

Grissom wasn't ready to admit defeat with the note yet, but was frustrated enough to agree with her.

"I can also call back the—" She stopped when the supervisor's cell phone went off.

"Could be Greg with the tox analysis."

Grissom unclipped his phone and glanced at the caller ID, his eyes growing wide. He almost dropped the phone in his haste to press the 'talk' button.

"Nick!"

From the corner of his eye, he saw Catherine's hand shoot over her mouth and Warrick bound over from the other side of the garage. He covered his other ear with his left hand and strained to hear, but so far nothing came through but static and heavy breathing.

"Nicky! Nick, are you there?"

His CSI was trying to tell him something but couldn't seem to get the words out. Grissom tried to sound encouraging without betraying his panic. It wasn't really working.

"What? Nick?"

It sounded like a name… Pete… Pete Wa…

He thought back to combing over the file...

"Pete Walker?"

Grissom thought he heard Nick correctly, but wished he could get some sort of confirmation. Or anything else, for that matter.

"C'mon, Nick, talk to us."

He pressed the phone harder into his ear, as if that would somehow change the muffled static back into Nick's voice. But the line changed to dead silence and then beeped, indicating the call had been dropped or that Nick hung up.

"Damn," he swore, replacing the phone on his clip. He turned to face his two colleagues.

Warrick stood with his arms crossed, chin awkwardly resting in one hand; he was positively beside himself with anxiousness. It was an unsettling contrast to his trademark cool-headed manner. Catherine looked at him with eyes he hadn't seen since Lindsey got trapped in that flooding car. If this 'case' hadn't proven the true human frailty of his hard, scientific team – himself included, he thought, admittedly – he wasn't sure what could.

"He said a name, 'Pete Walker.' And that was it."

Catherine's brow furrowed. "That sounds familiar."

Warrick nodded. "Yeah… hey, wasn't he the—"

Grissom suddenly remembered. "—third person Millander killed? Yes, he was."

The supervisor's mind raced. Where are you going with this, Nick? What am I supposed to see? His brain began trying its encyclopedic retrieval of anything remotely relevant from that case.

Catherine addressed the other pressing issue. "Well how did he sound, at least?"

"Not good. He had trouble getting those two words out."

Warrick stalked around in a circle, throwing his hands in the air. "Of course he didn't sound good! We've gotta get to him, now!"

Catherine put her hand on Warrick's arm and he sobered slightly. "I'll call Archie back at the lab and see if he can get the cell provider to try tracing the location of Nick's outgoing call."

If her words appeased Warrick, Grissom didn't notice. He was scrambling back through the case file in his head again.

Come on… come on. Pete Walker. Pete…

Suddenly, the realization hit Grissom like a proverbial ton of bricks.

Atta boy, Nicky.

"I don't need a trace."

Grissom stared straight ahead, his mind flashing back to a rainy night over two years ago.

"I know exactly where they went."

Her dress-booted steps echoed loudly as she walked around of the old, abandoned warehouse; Juliette marveled at its filthy walls as if they displayed all the splendor of the stained-glass panels at the National Cathedral. In her mind, though, that wasn't too far off: this did feel like a holy place… a place where she'd finally get her own resurrection of spirit… a place where she'd deliver her final requital.

The scant light provided by thin, horizontal windows near the ceiling had dissipated from the steadily darkening sky. The receptionist smiled as the familiar pings began sounding off the rusty roof, steadily growing in intensity.

Rain.

It was a rare occurrence in these parts, and a coincidental, thrilling garnish to her main course, if you will. And oh, she will. It was as if Doug himself was helping with the minutest details.

Now, to bring in the guest of honor.

Walking back outside, she stopped momentarily and raised her face to the heavens, relishing in the fresh rainfall. She closed her eyes and ran both hands through her rapidly soaking hair like a bad actress in a shampoo commercial. Soon, she would be free. Doug would be free. Finally.

Nearing the parked SUV, she pulled Nick's gun out of her waistband and opened the back door.

"Okay Nick, up and at 'em."

He appeared to be just as she left him, except…

The blanket had been pushed to halfway down his chest, and…

Oh.

That piece of shit.

She'd just assumed Nick carried one of those bulky, walkie-talkie-esque flip phones that all his colleagues seemed to have, and that he'd left it back at the lab. But the one that lie on the seat next to his face was so razor thin that she didn't realize it was in his pocket this whole time.

"And just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Grabbing the phone, she quickly accessed the last outgoing call. Figures.

"So you called for Daddy, huh? Why not 911?"

Juliette squeezed it in her hand, wishing she could break into a hundred pieces like one of those cheesy movie villains.

"Did you actually think that would help? C'mon Nick, where is he?"

Apparently Nick had gotten really good at ignoring her, and she'd had enough of it. She looked at the gun in her other hand, only now realizing she had no idea how to use it. But somehow, just holding it made her feel incredibly powerful. It was almost like a drug. The power surged through her and she shoved the cold barrel against his head.

"I said get up!"

No response.

"Fine. You wanna play like this?" She was not gonna take this crap. She flung the phone onto the muddy driveway, then stuck the gun back in her waistband and grabbed Nick by his arms, grunting as she dragged his heavy body backward. He slid down the edge of the open doorway and landed noisily in the fresh mud. Juliette was seething – he still hadn't twitched an eyelash.

She kicked her booted toe into his rib cage. "You wanna call your friends some more?"

Another kick.

"Huh?"

Another kick.

"Huh, Nicky?"

Breathing hard, she stopped and heard a slight moan escape from his mouth, but he never really woke up. Hmm, turns out he was almost done. And good timing, too. Even without the pitiful call for help, she knew Grissom would arrive soon. She grinned as the rain fell harder.

Time to set the stage.

TBC